they be doing with that?”
“Fomenting terror, maybe. That’s what I’m here to find out. I’ll go back when they
aren’t there and check out the computers.”
“They didn’t see you?”
“I don’t think so, and I don’t think they followed us. But let’s wait here for about
five minutes just in case.”
We waited. It got miserably hot in the car real fast. I had a better idea. I was hungry.
“How about we wait in the restaurant and get something to eat while we do?” I asked.
“All right. Walk as quickly as you can but don’t look like you’re being pursued.”
It was awfully complicated being in law enforcement, I was beginning to find out.
I waltzed into the restaurant with Zach right behind me.
“Table for two?” the waiter asked.
“Please,” said Zach. “How about the booth in the corner?”
“Certainly, sir. This way, please.”
Our table was private, even intimate. White table cloth, white cloth napkins, bud
vase with single, plastic pink rose. We looked out on the parking lot.
“What will you have?” asked Zach.
“A glass of red wine.”
“Anything beside?” He arched an eyebrow.
I could see his eyes again since he had taken off the sunglasses along with the Panama
hat he laid on the seat beside him. I took off the sunglasses but opted for leaving
on the black, floppy hat with wide brim.
“Want to split a bottle wine?”
He shook his head. “I’m driving. I’m having a beer and steak.”
“This is a seafood restaurant.”
“It says here they have porterhouse steak, and I’m having one.”
The waiter came to our table, looking expectant in crisp white shirt and black trousers.
Zach gave him our drink order.
“You know what you want?” Zach said.
“I’ll have fish kebab and chips.”
He gave the order, and the waiter walked away, humming.
The restaurant was noisy and packed with the mid-day lunch crowd, more Cypriot than
tourist. We stood out, but maybe I was being paranoid.
The waiter came back with our drinks. I held my glass up for a toast.
“To a quick end to the smuggling caper.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Zach. We clinked bottle and glass.
He slouched back against the booth and ran a hand through his hair. He looked smooth
and unruffled. His floral shirt gave him a laid back tourist look. I wish I could
feel like he looked.
“You have anybody back home?” Zach asked.
He caught me off guard. I took a sip of wine. “What do you mean?”
“You married?” he asked.
“No.” I snorted, real unladylike, but I couldn’t help it. “After this morning you
think I’m married?”
“Some women don’t make a distinction.”
“I’m not married.” That gave me pause. He might be. “You married?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“Yep, didn’t work out. A life in law enforcement is hard on marriage. You have anyone
waiting back home for you?” He certainly was being persistent.
“Not anymore,” I said and left it at that.
I looked away. He was trying to figure our relationship and so was I. I wasn’t real
comfortable with the subject, since I hadn’t figured out if this was a pre-jail fling,
vacation dalliance, seduction of Mata Hari, or what. So I changed the subject.
“The men in the Maruti are after you.”
He nodded. “I know.”
“I thought they were after me.”
“No.”
“Are you going to tell me why?”
He looked at me like he was trying to decide what he could and couldn’t say and for
good effect looked over his shoulder and around at the people dining near us. Everyone
jabbered away in Greek as far as I could hear.
“NYPD had a tip that a terrorist cell was forming on Cyprus. It is my job to find
out if that is true. What I saw this morning looks like I might have found it.”
“Do you know who they represent?”
He shrugged. “Not yet. But I will.”
“Where do Max and Irene fit in?”
He blew out a breath, looked out the window into the glare from the parking lot.
“Fomenting terror, maybe. That’s what I’m here to find out. I’ll go back when they
aren’t there and check out the computers.”
“They didn’t see you?”
“I don’t think so, and I don’t think they followed us. But let’s wait here for about
five minutes just in case.”
We waited. It got miserably hot in the car real fast. I had a better idea. I was hungry.
“How about we wait in the restaurant and get something to eat while we do?” I asked.
“All right. Walk as quickly as you can but don’t look like you’re being pursued.”
It was awfully complicated being in law enforcement, I was beginning to find out.
I waltzed into the restaurant with Zach right behind me.
“Table for two?” the waiter asked.
“Please,” said Zach. “How about the booth in the corner?”
“Certainly, sir. This way, please.”
Our table was private, even intimate. White table cloth, white cloth napkins, bud
vase with single, plastic pink rose. We looked out on the parking lot.
“What will you have?” asked Zach.
“A glass of red wine.”
“Anything beside?” He arched an eyebrow.
I could see his eyes again since he had taken off the sunglasses along with the Panama
hat he laid on the seat beside him. I took off the sunglasses but opted for leaving
on the black, floppy hat with wide brim.
“Want to split a bottle wine?”
He shook his head. “I’m driving. I’m having a beer and steak.”
“This is a seafood restaurant.”
“It says here they have porterhouse steak, and I’m having one.”
The waiter came to our table, looking expectant in crisp white shirt and black trousers.
Zach gave him our drink order.
“You know what you want?” Zach said.
“I’ll have fish kebab and chips.”
He gave the order, and the waiter walked away, humming.
The restaurant was noisy and packed with the mid-day lunch crowd, more Cypriot than
tourist. We stood out, but maybe I was being paranoid.
The waiter came back with our drinks. I held my glass up for a toast.
“To a quick end to the smuggling caper.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Zach. We clinked bottle and glass.
He slouched back against the booth and ran a hand through his hair. He looked smooth
and unruffled. His floral shirt gave him a laid back tourist look. I wish I could
feel like he looked.
“You have anybody back home?” Zach asked.
He caught me off guard. I took a sip of wine. “What do you mean?”
“You married?” he asked.
“No.” I snorted, real unladylike, but I couldn’t help it. “After this morning you
think I’m married?”
“Some women don’t make a distinction.”
“I’m not married.” That gave me pause. He might be. “You married?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“Yep, didn’t work out. A life in law enforcement is hard on marriage. You have anyone
waiting back home for you?” He certainly was being persistent.
“Not anymore,” I said and left it at that.
I looked away. He was trying to figure our relationship and so was I. I wasn’t real
comfortable with the subject, since I hadn’t figured out if this was a pre-jail fling,
vacation dalliance, seduction of Mata Hari, or what. So I changed the subject.
“The men in the Maruti are after you.”
He nodded. “I know.”
“I thought they were after me.”
“No.”
“Are you going to tell me why?”
He looked at me like he was trying to decide what he could and couldn’t say and for
good effect looked over his shoulder and around at the people dining near us. Everyone
jabbered away in Greek as far as I could hear.
“NYPD had a tip that a terrorist cell was forming on Cyprus. It is my job to find
out if that is true. What I saw this morning looks like I might have found it.”
“Do you know who they represent?”
He shrugged. “Not yet. But I will.”
“Where do Max and Irene fit in?”
He blew out a breath, looked out the window into the glare from the parking lot.
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